


Truly, Madly, Deeply

by dramady



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103129/">movie</a> for "reel_idol" on LJ. Learning to live again is sometimes the hardest part.<br/><b>Warning</b>: as with the movie, a character death (pre-fic) is intrinsic to the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truly, Madly, Deeply

"I'll be walking down the street, just ... coming back from the corner store there, or something like that. And it's late and I'll hear him. He'll say 'you shouldn't go to the store so late, Kris, this neighborhood isn't safe. Or he'll say 'remember to lock the door, Kris,' or the best one, really. 'Brush your teeth,' which... like, I always brush my teeth, it's not like I forget. But he always reminds me." Kris is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, making pulp of a tissue. "And I answer him. That's ... I know it's stupid, but I can't help it. I always answer him."

_"I always lock the door. And you know I brush my teeth. Why do you always tell me to brush my teeth?"_

Kris is smiling at nothing.

"How long has it been?"

"What?" He looks up, the color draining from his face, the smile seeping out with it.

Gretchen, his therapist, a woman who looks like she'd be more at home on Wall Street than in an overstuffed chair listening to him meets his gaze. "Kris, how long has it been since Adam died?"

His brows furrow and he watches bits of Kleenex fall to the floor.

~~

Guitar over his shoulder, a new pack of Twizzlers in his back pocket, Kris walks home from the corner store.

_"Why do you insist on getting home so late! This neighborhood!"_

"This neighborhood is fine. I'm almost home, anyway. And I'll lock the door, okay? You don't need to tell me to lock the door."

_"But you might forget..."_

Kris slips his key into the lock of the front door of his building and it feels quiet. He sighs, pausing for only a moment, before stepping inside, pushing the door closed and making sure it's locked. His apartment door is locked too and he sets down his guitar, tosses the licorice on the table and himself onto the sofa. He sits and closes his eyes.

~~

Something runs across his hand and that's when Kris wakes up with a start. In the light that comes in through the window, he can see the body scurry away.

A rat.

"Oh, God." Jerking himself up from where he'd fallen asleep on the sofa, Kris is brushing off his hand and looking around. Great. He's got rats in his apartment. Suddenly, he's not tired anymore. Tugging the sleeves of his t-shirt down, wanting to curl his toes into his jeans, he stands up and flicks the light on over the piano before he opens the lid. Then he plays, softly - don't want complaints from the neighbors. Something he'd played with; something to make Adam smile. When he'd played it the first time, like this, Adam had stopped, head cocked, then he'd laughed. "Can't mess with a classic, Allen."

"That's what you think," he'd said, smiling.

_I remember when... I remember, remember when I lost my mind..._ Slow and bluesy.

He stops midway through the first verse, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the piano.

~~

There is rat poison _everywhere_. In bowls on the floor, in corners, even on cabinets. Thank God it's bright blue so that Kris won't accidentally _eat_ it or something. The exterminator had said that if there's one, there's more.

"Could be hundreds. Rats in LA are tough, you know. Once they're in, really hard to get rid of."

The carpenter, there to fix the cabinet doors that don't shut right after the last earthquake, says it's a foundation issue; the whole building "might be fucked."

"This place is shit, dude." Matt's hand lands on Kris's shoulder.

"Nice," Kris answers, looking up at him as he shrugs out from under the touch. "I like it. It's got character."

"Character? If you call 'shit' character I guess you're right. C'mon, man. You can afford nicer than this."

Without a word, Kris goes out the fire escape to the roof. He can see the Hollywood sign from his roof. He can see the clouds, the shapes they make.

"Adam never even liked this place?" Coming over from the living room, Danny looks at Matt and shrugs. "This really isn't a great apartment."

"He says he feels 'closer to Adam' here. But he moved in after he died. Never told me what a piece of shit it was."

"Man." Danny sighs, "I still can't believe it. It was so sudden."

"Doesn't make any sense. Stomach pains and he goes to the hospital and, what was it, twelve hours later, he was gone, remember? Some kind of inflamation. The suit's still not even close to being settled."

"Six months ago, already." Going over, Danny stuck his head out the window to look up the fire escape. "Life is strange, man."

On the roof, Kris sits, his hands in his pockets, looking at the clouds.

~~

Gretchen hands him another Kleenex and Kris wipes at his nose.

"I find myself crying, at, like, the worst times, in the worst places." He folds the tissue over and swipes at his eyes. "I can't help it. I can't help it and people look at me all strange. It's just that I miss him. I miss him. I miss him _so much_. And then I get, like mad at him." His fists ball. "It's not right, I know, but ... I just .... I'm so mad. I can't even help it. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm so _angry_ at him for not being here."

His breath hitches, he takes more Kleenex.

"Why did he have to die? It's so _unfair_ So unfair. And I just ... There wasn't enough time - there was more we wanted to do - and I want him back. I want him _back_. I want—him—back!"

"Time is up, Kris."

"What?"

His counselor points at the clock.

"Oh, dang. Right. Sorry." Snuffling, he stands up, yanking a few more tissues from the box. "Sorry. Thanks." He gets his guitar and heads for the door. "I'm fine, you know? I'm ... I'm fine." His smile is water and he scrubs at his eyes as he walks out the door. "I'm f-fine."

He puts his sunglasses on when he gets onto the street. It's easier that way, than having to explain why he's crying.

~~

He's got an old tennis racket of his dad's that he takes to sleeping with, in case there's another close encounter with a rat. He knows he'd feel really bad if he actually hits something with the racket, but there's a line and the rat crossed it.

~~

"Hey, Kris! C'mon! We're going out! We'll come get you and go out. You know you wanna. Call me back, man! It's Matt, remember? Matt Giraud?"

Kris erases the message without replying to it.

~~

"There are these times," he tells Gretchen, "that I'll just be sitting? And I ... I'll have been sitting there for a really long time. Hours, like. And I ... I was just sitting and ... I don't get it. I don't get how that can happen, that I'll just be sitting there ... and ... "

The counselor just sits there, watching him. She never says much; just listens. He wonders, if he kicked her in the shins, if she'd respond. He leans back, pulling his legs up to his chest and he watches her like she watches him, feeling this _rage_ that's a hot tight ball in his chest, out of nowhere.

~~

_"Make sure to lock the door, Kris..."_

He locks the door, double checking it.

There's another message from Matt: "It's a party at Paula's! You know you want to go ... call me, dude! Frickin' call me!" _To erase all messages - messages erased_.

~~

It's going on four AM and he can't sleep. His kitchen cabinets won't close, the rat poison still sits in bowls around his home and he can't sleep. It feels almost like he's never slept and will never sleep again.

He lifts the lid of the piano, sliding onto the bench.

"I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind...there's something so pleasant about that place...even your emotions have an echo in so much space..."

_And when you're out there without care  
Yeah, I was out of touch  
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough  
I just knew too much..._

He can _hear_ Adam singing that. Can _hear_ the twang he put to the words to make it ironic and tart, part of why he wrinkled his nose at it being slowed down.

_Does that make me crazy?  
Does that make me crazy?  
Does that make me crazy?  
Possibly...._

It sounds so _real_ that he feels the ball in the back of his throat and Kris shuts his eyes up tight, fingers stilling on the keys. He can't move. Doesn't dare move. Adam sounds so _real_ that if he turns around and Adam isn't there ... he's not sure he can take it.

"And I hope that you are  
Having the time of your life  
But think twice  
That's my only advice..."

Unaware of the sound he chokes out, Kris slides off the piano bench, his eyes still closed, and he turns. It _sounded_ like Adam is right behind him. It sounded like.

Except Adam is _there_. There. In his black Bowie-glitter t-shirt and jeans and an overcoat and his black hair is in his face, his eyes so _blue_ that they seem to glow. He's _there_.

"Oh. God." Suddenly Kris can't breathe. He can't breathe and he feels his knees buckle.

He's finally gone crazy, he's sure of it and he shuts his eyes to keep the image in his mind for when he opens them again and Adam is gone.

As he falls, Adam catches him and Kris finds his face in that place in Adam's shoulder; that place where he'd hug him, and he fists his hands in the trenchcoat - how dramatic, he thinks, a trenchcoat. So something Adam would do - even as he still fights to breathe, still feels the wetness on his face, hears himself chanting "Oh, God, _Adam_."

"I'm here, baby. I'm here. Shhh. It's gonna be all right. Shh. Don't cry, okay? Don't cry, Kris. Don't cry."

Kris can feel the arms around himself, can feel the solidity of Adam's chest.

~~

They're on the roof. Kris is sitting between Adam's legs, his own legs pulled up, his cheek against Adam's chest and he tugs those long arms tighter around himself. Randomly, he'll squeeze Adam's hand, his wrist, his arm, turn to pat Adam's chest. He's _real_. He's real.

"But how?," he asks. "How could you come back?"

"I could feel your need. I could feel it. I had to come back." Adam looks up at the sky, at the stars, and the streaks of haze in the air.

Leaning up, Kris pushes at Adam's chest, at his shoulders, face painted with disbelief. "You're really _here_. Oh God, I missed you so _much_. I-"

Adam looks down, then to face him, smiling vaguely, sweetly. "I know. I was watching."

"You were talking to me!"

Adam's expression turns scolding, "Well, you might've forgotten to lock the door! I didn't want anything happen to you! And you were always forgetting to brush. Well, not always. But." He smiles. "Didn't want your oral hygiene to suffer just because you missed me."

"I missed you so _much_," Kris whispers, an inch from the face. Close enough to see the freckles on his lips. He fights the urge to dig his fingers into Adam's face to feel the skin, to confirm his presence. It's quiet but for the street noise. He looks at Adam and Adam looks at him.

"It's strange," Adam says, fingers tracing along Kris's jaw. "Where I was. We can see down here. And we see how people hurt. There was this ... a little girl? She - her hair was blue, which was cute on her, and she'd been... she could look down and see her parents and how it was ripping her parents apart and she had to figure out who to talk to, when. And I could see you. I could feel you."

The story's disjointed, incomplete. But Kris lets it sit there, lets it turn around in his head and the city sounds stretch out around them for a few minutes.

Kris, though, usually so good at being quiet, can't be quiet for long. He moves back a few inches, the better to see Adam. "Do you remember when we finally got together?"

"Of _course_ I do." Adam grins as he settles himself cross-legged, facing Kris. "You'd had your time to 'make sure your head was on straight' and then you showed up at my door, knocking - more like pounding - with your guitar over your shoulder."

At the memory, Adam's smile softens, grows sweeter, prompting Kris to smile as well as he continues. "At my place, we talked all night long. And you danced, or bounced. I don't think we can call what you do dancing, still after all these years. You are ... you're not a great dancer, if I need to remind you." He reaches forward to poke Kris in the chest. "And then you played and we sang. Then we sang and and you danced, some more. I'm still not sure you weren't drunk."

Kris scoffs, a little. It had felt like he was drunk. High on something unreal becoming real, maybe even a little drunk on Adam's presence, on a lack of sleep, on all of it. Life.

"This went on for hours." Adam's voice turns serious to match his eyes and the lines of his mouth. "And by the time we finally kissed at about five in the morning, we were both shaking."

Kris moves, rolling forward so that their lips are a breath apart. After a heartbeat, he closes that distance and their lips meet. Gently, so gently. He pulls away gasping. "Your lips are so cold." He presses his fingers to Adam's mouth.

Adam nudges Kris's hand away. "This really is a shit building, Kris. It's so cold here!" He pulls his trenchcoat tighter over him. "When we go inside can we turn up the heat?"

~~

When he checks his voicemail, there are twenty-eight messages. "Oh... God," he mutters to himself. "Kris! Call me!" "Kris, you had the studio reserved - " "Kris, listen, we're getting worried-"

He deletes them all.

~~

"See that cloud? That looks like your brother." Kris and Adam sit on the roof again, cross-legged, their knees touching as they stare at the sky.

"It doesn't look anything like Neil. Now, _that_ cloud looks like _your_ brother. See that round head? Kris, you should thank whoever that your bald spot isn't worse."

"Yowch," Kris chuckles and turns to Adam, who despite the heat of the sun, is still wearing his trenchcoat, a scarf and fingerless gloves. "I love you."

"I truly love you," Adam declares, setting his chin, indicating a challenge, those blue eyes twinkling.

Kris responds immediately, "I truly, madly love you."

Adam fires back, "I truly, madly, deeply love you."

"I truly, madly, deeply, uhhhh…" Kris scrambles, "juicily love you."

"Ooh!" Adam's eyebrows go up in an 'oh, really' expression that makes Kris's stomach flipflop. "I truly, madly, juicily, fuzzily—"

Kris jumps up and is bouncing in a circle around Adam. "You forgot deeply! You forgot deeply! I win! I win! I get to pick what we do! And I want to play. And sing."

Adam groans as he's pulled down the fire escape, back into the apartment, over to the piano. "And you wonder why I never learned to play an instrument...."

"I play, you sing," Kris orders. "I won."

"Bossy."

Kris hits a chord, lets it linger and fade before he starts to play.

"God, it figures. You're so predictable, Allen."

"Sing!"

"Fine, fine. So bossy. This is more your song than mine, though and not even really yours. Why not Red Guitar or something? Honestly, Kris." But he starts to sing, leaning forward, over the piano as Kris watches him, playing by rote, rapt in the lines of Adam's face.

"Ain't no sunshine when he's gone.  
It's not warm when he's away.  
Ain't no sunshine when he's gone  
And he's always gone too long anytime he goes away."

Kris comes in at the second verse, letting Adam take the higher line, work his melody around it,

"Wonder this time where he's gone,  
Wonder if he's gone to stay  
Ain't no sunshine when he's gone  
And this house just ain't no home anytime he goes away."

It takes a long while for the buzzing of the door to catch Kris's attention over the music, over the pure tones of Adam's voice.

"Shit." For a moment, he just stares at Adam, who's stopped singing and is staring back at him. He slides from the bench and goes over to the window. "Shit," he says again as he looks through the blinds. "It's Matt."

"Kris! I can hear the piano, dude! Let me up! I can hear you! I know you're home, man. Buzz me in already!"

"It's Matt-" Kris turns back and the room is empty. Something is heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach as he hits the buzzer to let Matt in.

"Took you long enough," his friend says as he barrels in. "What the hell, dude?! People've been worried sick. You disappear, don't answer calls or anything? What gives?"

"What do you mean, what gives," Kris stutters. "I've just been - "

"You've been off radar for _two weeks_, man. Two weeks!"

"Two - " Kris stills, staring at Matt. "Two weeks? Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?!" Matt rolls his eyes. "Of course I'm sure. Dude, do you have pneumonia in here, or something? Because your place is a frickin' oven in here and you haven't been ... well, pretty much _anywhere_."

"I, uh." Kris shakes his head, rubbing at his forehead. "Yeah, I ... I guess I've been sicker than I thought, huh? I ... but I'm feeling better. I'll, uh, check in with everyone tomorrow, you know? I'll start getting caught up and stuff, tomorrow. I should, you know, rest now, though, you know?"

"Wow, man, you must've been really sick."  
Urging Matt toward the door, Kris nods. "Yeah, really took it out of me. You know I don't get sick much, right? And this just ... yeah. I need to get a cleaning crew in here, you know? To kill all the germs."

"I swear, Allen, if you get me sick - "

"Then get out, Giraud," Kris smirks a little as he starts to close the door. "Thanks, though. For checking on me."

"You sure you're okay, Kris?" Matt asks as he turns back to look at him.

"Yeah, I'm all right. Thanks, man." And Kris shuts - and locks - the door, turning back around.

"Adam?" He whispers, scanning the room. "Adam? Adam, where are you?" Nothing in the kitchen. "Adam?" Nothing in the bathroom. Kris's heart feels like it's beating so hard and so fast again that it might just beat right out of his chest and all he can think is _no, no, nononono_. "Adam?" He stands in the short hallway between the living room and his bedroom. "Please tell me you didn't leave. Adam, tell me where you are. This isn't funny."

The bedroom is empty too.His chest, his whole _body_ feeling heavy, Kris sits on the bed, his face in his hands.

Behind him, Adam rises from under the covers. "Boo!"

Kris jumps up and collapses on the floor, relief and frustration fighting for victory. "You - you _jerk_! I thought you were gone! I was -- I was really scared."

Adam chuckles and leans forward to kiss Kris on the nose. 'What did he want?"

Kris attempts to control his heart. "It seems I haven't been going ...anywhere. I have to do ... things. Tomorrow."

Adam pouts. "Do you have to?"

"I have to have some kind of income." It seems Kris has finally caught his breath and can smile, albeit wobbily, at Adam.

"I'll miss you," Adam says, finding Kris's fingers and toying with them.

Kris's smile grows bigger.

Moving the whole of his body closer, Adam asks, "Can I invite some friends over? We'll watch movies while you are at work."

"Friends?" Kris can feel himself staring. How...

"Yeah. Other guys from where I was. We won't be any trouble, we'll just watch movies - musicals, ok?"

Kris feels himself nodding. "Yeah. Sure, I ... I'm just so glad you didn't leave." Leaning forward, he plants his face in the crux of Adam's shoulder, hands fisted in that trenchcoat.

"I didn't." Adam cuddles him close, kissing his temple. "But the rats did."

"Really? They're gone?" The words come out muffled.

"They don't really like us."

"You mean—"

"Rats are afraid of ghosts."

The way Adam says it seems so _logical_ that Kris doesn't question it. He leans up, licking over his lower lip just before he kisses Adam, whose mouth is always cold. He needs to make it warm.

~~

Gretchen's office hasn't changed.

Taking a deep breath, Kris asks, "What would you say if I said I talked to Adam?"

Her eyebrows rise. "It seems natural to want to talk to the departed as part of the grieving process, Kris."

He casts his eyes down to where he picks at a cuticle on his thumb. "Yeah, no, I know. It just seems so real sometimes. Like he's talking back."

"The imagination is a powerful tool, Kris."

He nods. He thinks briefly about telling Gretchen that Adam is in his apartment right now, watching movies, but he doesn't. Who would believe him?

~~

His agent is very glad to see him. She hauls out a file folder of things, rattling off tour possibilities, appearance possibilities, rescheduled studio times, collaboration possibilities so quickly that Kris's head spins.

He puts a hand up. "I ... I'm not sure how much I'm feeling up for, you know? I don't want to overdo it. You know?"

"Oh, no," Lisa says, shaking her head. "Of course not. Either way, we're glad you're getting back into the swing of things. No sense in you just ... disappearing, you know?" She shrugs a little bit. "It's not like you died, too."

At that, Kris's back goes rigid and he stares at her. "No, I guess not."

~~

"Kris! Come out and get a drink! One drink. One libation. C'mon." Matt waggles his eyebrows, catching Kris in the hall of the agency.

"Not tonight, man," Kris says, looking at Matt's feet. "Take a raincheck?"

"... yeah, man. But the key to rainchecks is that you use them. You have to get over Adam eventually, you know."

Kris flinches. "I don't want to. Not yet."

Matt shakes his head as he walks by and out the door.

~~

Kris lets himself into his apartment, careful to lock the door behind himself. When he turns around he realizes that his living room is overrun with lounging bodies all facing the television, which is playing a black and white movie that he doesn't recognized. He can't see Adam - can't see him in his own place - and he calls out, "Adam! Where are you?"

A head pops up. "Hi, baby! These are my friends! Everyone! Say hello to Kris!"

A chorus of greetings meet him. Fighting his surprise and discomfort, he raises his hand. Adam steps among the bodies to kiss Kris on his cheek and turn to the group, pointing. "This is Michael, Kurt, Paul. Say hello, Paul! Everyone else, this is Kris!"

Paul, a slight, pale man with a shock of brown hair, waves. "Thanks for letting us use your TV."

Kris nods.

Adam laces his arm through Kris's and faces him, smiling. "We have a list of movies we hope you'll pick up for us. Please?"

Kris takes back his arm as he begins removing his jacket, setting down his guitar. "Wow. It's really hot in here."

Adam pulls at his sleeve. "Kris, will you get the movies for us? Tomorrow?"

Even in the dark, the smile seems like light. "Yeah. I will. Listen. Can we talk?" Not really waiting for an answer, Kris pulls Adam by the elbow, past all kinds of people he doesn't know, into the bedroom and closes the door.

Adam immediately begins babbling, sitting when Kris does, watching as he pulls off his socks and shoes, rubbing at his back, tickling at his ribs. "Did you have a good day, baby? How was it being back in the world?"

Kris shrugs off the questions and Adam's hands. "Fine, it was fine. Listen, how long are those guys going to be here?"

Adam frowns. "But you said that I could have friends over while you were out."

"I did, but I'm home now. Can't we have some time --"

Adam crosses his arms in front of his body, frowning. '"I can't really tell them to leave, now, can I?"

"You can, yes." Kris stares back, disbelieving.

"But, Kris!" Adam looks legitimately shocked. "That's so rude! Can't you just watch the movie with us? And when this one is done, I'll tell them to go. Please?"

It's his home, it's ... it's late. Kris has never been good at telling Adam no, not before they were together and certainly not after. "... yeah," he finally says, in a sigh. "Okay."

~~

Four movies later, Kris pulls himself from the sofa. "I have to go to bed."

Adam attempts to pull him back down, hand around his wrist. "No, stay!"

Kris shakes him off. "I have meetings in the morning. In, in two hours," he corrects himself after a glance at the time on the DVD player.

Adam pouts but doesn't attempt to stop him.

No one else stirs, only grumbling when he blocks their view of the TV as he makes his way to the bedroom. He collapses on the bed and immediately falls asleep. The tennis racket is still leaned against the wall, forgotten.

~~

Each day, the offer is made: "Come out for a drink. _One_ drink." Each day Kris says no. Matt and Danny begin to get snarky. Finally, after nearly two weeks of this badgering and no real desire to return to the film house his apartment has become, he acquiesces and joins them at the bar that they all used to go to, back even before his divorce, close enough to everyone's place that they can walk.

They've added live music since he was last here and there's a young guy playing guitar and singing as they drink and he listens with one hear to Matt and Danny see who can make the worst jokes the fastest. The singer is good and the music is a lot like what he likes, kind of bluesy, almost folksy; Kris finds himself listening more to the music than to his friends after a while. A poke to his ribs bring his attention back to the table with a start

Matt goads him. "Sheeeeit, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're making sweet eye-love to the the singer! Isn't he, Daniel?"

Danny joins Matt, chuckling. "Man, I think he is!"

Matt leans forward, his eyebrows raised. "My, my! A sign of life!"

Kris shakes his head and raises his hands in defense. "No, no! I just like the music. That's all."

"Sure, sure!" The teasing is merciless and seemingly unending and to make Matters worse, it keeps getting louder.

Without warning, Matt and Danny bring the singer to the table and introduce him. Despite himself, Kris is blushing.

He stammers, "I'm sorry for my friends. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just liking your sound."

The singer, tall and darkhaired, scruff of a beard dotting his chin, with hazel eyes and an easy smile says, "Thanks! That actually means a lot, coming from you." He pushes out his hand. "Favorite, still, after all this time is 'Red Guitar,' hands down."

The singer knows him. Great. Kris shakes the outstretched hand, "Kris."

"Cale. If you ever want to jam, just come by. I'm here three nights a week."

Kris finds himself blushing again. He doesn't need to play at small bars. But the idea sticks with him; hard to shake.

~~

He makes his way home, no one telling him this time get home earlier, that the neighborhood is bad. He is remembering Cale's music and itching to play. He opens his door to see a sea of pale faces glaring at him.

"You're late!" Adam comes forward from the group, his hands on his hips.

Attempting to steer Adam to the bedroom, Kris bites back his sigh, head down, but Adam breaks loose. "No! You're late! I was worried! And besides, you promised us movies!"

That's it? Staring up at Adam, Kris pulls the bag from his satchel, hands it to Adam, and makes his way to the bedroom, closing the door. He then opens the window to escape the stifling heat, leaning back, his eyes closing. Sitting on the sill, all Kris does for a moment is breathe the night air until he hears the door open and close behind him. Adam's hands are kneading his shoulders and his voice is in his ear.

"I'm sorry I snapped. I really was worried. Where were you?"

Kris leans back into Adam's embrace, feeling waves of guilt crash over him; he keeps his eyes closed. "I had a drink with the guys. That's all."

"Well, I'm glad you're home now." Adam's arms snake around Kris's neck. "Come watch 'Godspell' with us?"

Kris lets himself be led back into the main room and onto the sofa as Adam wraps himself around him. He tries to watch the movie, he does, but he can hear music in the back of his head, strings of notes coming together in a way they haven't in a really long time. So, instead, he finds himself looking out the window.

~~

He surprises Matt and Danny by again joining them for a drink. Cale is playing at the bar again and as he plays, Kris can hear the riffs he'd add if he shared the stage. His fingers play the frets on his leg under the table. Even after Matt and Danny have taken off, citing boredom, he stays at the table, listening. And when the set is done, Cale joins him, sitting across from him.

"Glad to see you!"

Kris finds himself blushing again. "Really like your music, man."

Cale's smile is a bright, crooked one, to which Kris finds himself drawn. "Thanks! I know you're way bigger than this, but really, bring your guitar one night and we'll play, you know? That would be ... well, that'd just be really cool, I think."

Kris smiles, yearning to say yes. Instead he switches topics. "Who are your influences?"

Cale smiles, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "All over the map, but I gotta agree with you; Michael Jackson, right? Made me love music."

Kris nods. "I know, right?"

It's late; the bar is closing. They both stand. Kris knows he should get home, but it feels almost like he's rooted to the floor.

Cale turns to Kris. "You wanna get a drink, talk some more, maybe jam a bit? My place?"

Kris feels his stomach turn, twist. "I can't." He hesitates. "It's complicated."

Cale backs away. "Of course. No problem. Don't want to stir up trouble. You're Kris Allen, after all. I'm just me."

Kris looks down. "It's not that. Really. Don't think that, okay?"

The guitarist raises his eyebrows.

Kris studies his feet. "I, uh. I lost someone." He stops, feeling the pressure behind his eyes, fearing he might cry.

Cale seems to wait for him to continue, so Kris clears his throat.

"He was, er _is_….I….we….." He finds himself engrossed in the floor and feels a hand on his arm. He looks up to meet Cale's blue eyes.

"It's ok. We can jam another time if you want to, or not. I'm glad to have met you, either way."

Kris allows himself a watery smile, squirming at the heaviness around his heart.

~~

Kris comes home from work and his main room is dismantled. Furniture is piled up around the edges and the carpet has been pulled up. He can't speak for a moment.

Adam comes forward, dusting off his hands. "Baby! You're home! Look what we found! Your floorboards! Look at these!" He kneels, caressing the wood. "The best thing in this shitty apartment! In LA! Once they have been cleaned and polished, it will be amazing, right? I mean, I never would've looked if Paul hadn't said something? But he had a hunch. And then we can get rid of that seriously gross carpet."

Finally, after weeks of guests and intrusions, Kris can't hold it back any more. There is a line and it's been crossed. He turns to the men who are sprawled about the room. "Get out! All of you! Get out! GET OUT!"

"Baby! You don't have to yell! We were just trying to help out."

Not answering, Kris stands, shoulders squared, as people file out. Hes waits until he and Adam are alone; Paul and the others have moved to the bedroom and he tries to steady his breathing. "This is my apartment, Adam. Mine. All mine. And I like that -- well, I didn't like the carpet but I like this crummy apartment!"

Adam pulls his arms around himself and studies the floor. "I thought I would help."

Feeling the twist in his chest at seeing Adam being hurt, but still feeling angry, Kris stands his ground. "This is _my apartment_."

Adam looks up, his face solemn. Finally, he slowly turns and seats himself on the rolled up carpeting, trenchcoat pulled carefully around himself. He studies Kris for a long moment before speaking. "Do you remember that song we never finished?"

Startled by the change in subject, Kris nods.

"I think I might have some lyrics for it?" Adam, who never sounds tentative, sounds tentative as he begins to speak.

"It's the early morn  
lights flick on  
sleepy eyes peek through the blinds at something wrong  
Motionless remains the mess  
Shame, such a beautiful, beautiful young life..."

Kris sinks to the floor, sitting cross-legged, his neck feeling unable to hold up his head. "Those are good. Beautiful really."

Adam raises a finger to silence him. "The chorus:

By the time I'm dreaming  
and you've crept out on me sleeping  
I'm busy in the blissful unaware  
By the time I'm dreaming  
and you've crept out on me sleeping  
tell me how am I supposed to care..."

Kris forces his heavy limbs to crawl toward Adam, physically feeling his heart break.

Adam continues, studying Kris as he inches toward him.

"A trail of clothes two years old  
Why did you have to go and leave all this stuff behind  
Wasn't I allowed three strikes and out  
No, but you said I could, said I could just one night

By the time I'm dreaming  
and you've crept out on me sleeping  
I'm busy in the blissful unaware

By the time I'm dreaming  
and you've crept out on me sleeping  
tell me how am I supposed to care

If I had let you go, let you go,  
would this be different, different  
Now I'll never know never know  
I didn't get the chance, damn you ..."

By this time, Kris has buried his face in Adam's lap and is crying.

Placing his hand on Kris's head, tangling his fingers in Kris's hair, Adam asks haltingly, "Do you want me to leave?"

All that can be heard in the room is Kris's murmuring into Adam's lap, "No, no, no, no, no, no."

~~

Kris closes the door as quietly as he can as he leaves the apartment. He hopes the film audience didn't notice him leaving with a different guitar case. They seem to be engrossed in "Priscilla Queen of the Desert" as he exits the flat.

He tiptoes down the stairs, not looking back.

As he leaves the building, pale faces fill the window and Adam is barraged with questions. "Where's he going with the other guitar, Adam? Doesn't he usually take the acoustic? Why the red one?"

Adam's eyes are dark as he shakes his head. The others gather around him, patting his shoulders, murmuring. He continues to watch Kris walk until he disappears from view down the street.

~~

Kris pulls the guitar from its case and plugs in. Cale is smiling at him, strumming his own guitar. "This should be fun, huh?"

The music Kris has heard in his head comes pouring out of the amplifiers, and it almost feels like he's swimming in music notes. He can't stop smiling. The hours pass in a blur. Somewhere in the middle of the evening, he realizes that he feels _free_.

He and Cale sit with drinks after the last set, after he's signed some autographs and posed for some cellphone pictures that will show up on Twitter tomorrow. He looks up as Cale speaks.

"So, you got that other…stuff… resolved, huh?"

Kris takes a deep drink from his glass; the beer tastes _really good_. After a second and a deep breath, he makes himself fully face Cale. "My lover, I guess, died. Eight months ago. And I was fighting doing this because I felt unfaithful to him."

Cale silently observes him; Kris watches his face for any sign. Everyone knew. Everyone. It was splashed all over the papers, online. He hopes, ardently, that he doesn't have to say Adam's name aloud.

Kris lets a deep breath fill his chest, grounds himself in Cale's eyes and speaks. "And I still love him."

Cale doesn't flinch or look away. He reaches out a hand to cover Kris's hands, which have been curled into a double fist on the table. He still doesn't speak.

Kris takes another deep breath. "So, we need to go slow, ok? Is that ok?"

Cale pauses, then speaks. "Of course, we can go slow, even though I suddenly am wondering if we are going somewhere and I kind of missed it?" He offers his crooked smile. "But," he says, "I need to know something. Do you like playing with me?"

Kris smiles. "I really do, yeah. I ... really do."

"Good. Cos I like playing with you too! We sound good together!"

Kris finds himself nodding. They _do_ sound good together. He can feel his heart begin to lift just a bit, move away from darkness an inch, remembering the way they kind of riffed off each other for most of the night.

Cale's brow furrows as he speaks, his left hand still on Kris's, as he shrugs a little, looking down at their hands rather than at Kris. "So maybe we do it again. You can, you know, give me a call. No pressure."

Kris's heart leaps and stutters. He can't meet Cale's eyes as Cale continues.

"I just think this—kind of collaboration, I mean—works. I don't know about any other stuff right now. Don't know if there is any other stuff."

Kris looks up to see Cale shrug as he gets set to leave.

"Think about it. If you want. I'll be honest. I like you. And I think you like me." He is standing before Kris and something lands on the table, something he'd been fiddling with, a little origami crane.

Kris nods.

"So, just think about it." Cale gathers his guitar and with a final squeeze of Kris's shoulder, he leaves.

Kris sits alone and half-smiles. It's hard to move when he feels like he's weighted to the chair. He holds the origami crane in his hands.

~~

Before he lets himself in the apartment, Kris throws the crane in the trash can outside the building door. He enters the apartment and sets down his guitar case. Adam's alone, sitting on the rolled carpet once again, bundled in his black trenchrcoat. Kris kneels in front of Adam without speaking, before falling into his arms. They hold each other, Kris's face in Adam's shoulder, arms around his waist. No words are spoken.

~~

Kris comes home from a meeting with his managers the next day and the apartment is empty. He goes from room to room calling Adam's name, only hearing his own voice echo back at him, bouncing off the stark wood floors. As he begins another round of searching, he spies the crane Cale had given him sitting on the closed lid of the piano. His heart stops, then thuds heavily in his chest. As he continues to study the crane a few moments later, he hears the scrabble of feet somewhere behind him. The rats are back.

~~

Later, picking himself off the floor, having scrubbed at the wood until it shone, the skin of his fingers feeling raw and red, Kris finally dials the phone. "Cale? It's Kris." He smiles into the phone. "Yeah, um, if you wanted? It might be fun to write something together. If you want."

He listens. "Yes, that's right. I'll meet you at the end of my block?" He rattles off directions, idly scratching at the wood with a fingernail. "Fifteen minutes. Good." He ends the call and turns to study his living room. It will be nice with the shiny wood floors; Adam was right. Kris will have to haul out the carpeting. His landlord might have a fit. For some reason, that makes him smile.

He crosses to the piano and rubs a hand along the cover, not opening it. When he looks out the window, he can't see the Hollywood sign and he can't see any clouds. The apartment is silent, save the rats.

Finally, Kris picks up his guitar case and the crane, and from the door, he studies the emptiness of his apartment. Then he closes the door and moves down the walk. He turns down the sidewalk and walks to the corner where Cale waits for him. He stows his guitar in the back seat and climbs into Cale's car.

They drive away.

~fin~

A/N: the song Adam has lyrics to for Kris is actually Mika's.


End file.
